


afterglow

by honeycombkiss



Series: waited just to love you [11]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Characters (16/17 years old), Alternate Universe - High School, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Jealous Eddie Kaspbrak, Junior Year of High School, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Post-IT (2017), established reddie, except nobody moves away or forgets because that's bullshit, house party at the denbroughs cuz bills parents are out of town, just sweet and fluffy, reddie sex scene tho its not very graphic, reddie shot gunning, tooth rotting fluffy smut basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeycombkiss/pseuds/honeycombkiss
Summary: The world felt limited to him and Richie and their love. As if their love was palpable; as if it were in the room with them. As if maybe Eddie wasn’t just drunk on the punch and high from the weed, but somehow his mind and body were escalated by the boundless joy that he shared with Richie.It was overwhelming in the way that loving Richie Tozier always was./ Or: When Bill’s parents go out of town, the Losers have the perfect opportunity to throw a house party. Drinking, dancing and smoking ensues. And Eddie really can’t keep his hands to himself; not when Richie was around.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: waited just to love you [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515326
Comments: 9
Kudos: 87





	afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the Spring of 1993, meaning it is the Losers Junior Year of high school. This makes them all 16 and 17 years old.
> 
> This story was inspired by my fascination/love for shotgunning and my love for the song ‘Afterglow’ by The Driver Era. Give it a listen, as it’s what I listened to while writing this fic.
> 
> Sidenote: I write every fic with this knowledge: the losers club have one brain cell collectively and mike has full custody while ben has visitations

Eddie hated parties. End of story. No matter how much Bill and Beverly and even sometimes Richie tried to glamorize them, his opinion was solid. And although he’d agreed to arrive at Bill’s an hour prior to the party’s start, he also hated having a part in a party. Nobody seemed to share his opinion, either. Which was frustrating.

Eddie walked the several blocks it took to get to the Denbrough’s house. With hands shoved in his pockets, he kicked rocks across the sidewalk, hummed and wondered if there was anyway to get out of the party that night. Without causing alarm that would lead to Richie coming to fetch him.

Varsity baseball pitcher Bill Denbrough was more popular than Eddie knew Bill had the ability to be. He still stuttered and he still hung out with the Losers, but sports were important in small-town Derry, Maine.

Richie was the life of any party. He was the DJ and the entertainment and a stoner. He was excitement and jokes and dancing on tables. But what nobody else saw was Richie barfing all night long, whining into Eddie’s neck about how _sick and miserable_ he was. Eddie hated the germs and the noises Richie’s throat made half an hour into the vomiting when there was nothing coming up but stomach acid.

If Richie was the life of the party, Mike was the heart and soul. He was all easy conversation and happy smiles. He was up for drinking games or mosh pits in a strangers living room.

Even Stan had excitedly requested his favorite alcohol to Beverly and Mike who had been tasked with drinks. Stan always pushed Richie to drink _more and more_ until Richie’s world was spinning. Last time Bill hosted a party, Eddie didn’t talk to Stan for a week because he’d pushed Richie too far.

Ben was delighted to have something to do on a Saturday night. He’d even lied to Eddie’s mother without prompt. ( _“Hey, Mrs. K! I was hoping Eddie could have a sleepover at my house this weekend. Yes, I know you don’t usually allow Eddie to be out on Sundays, but we’ve got a school project and,”_ ) So Eddie hadn’t had an option but to go.

And Beverly took these things very seriously. She’d requested a shit ton of weed from her aunt, as well as a couple of kegs of beer. She’d pulled Ben and Bill to the Unique Boutique with dreams of outfits. And Mike had heard and he’d wanted a _Beverly Marsh Special_ , too. And before anyone else could say a thing, Beverly had picked out outfits for everyone, with instructions on how to style their hair. Yet another reason for Eddie to hate parties.

Each of his friends had talked animatedly at lunch all week long. And then there was Eddie; gloomy, bored and exhausted before the party had even begun.

Which was why Eddie was standing on Bill’s doorstep, knocking to be heard over the music already blasting from the house, wearing the acid wash jean overalls Beverly had paired with a pastel green crew neck t-shirt. He wore his favorite white chucks, still fussing with his hair.

Eddie tried again to push the Denbrough’s front door open, only to find it locked as it had been forty seconds ago. He pounded harder, cursing the Losers under his breath.

There was a laugh behind him, causing Eddie to spin on his heels and meet eyes with Ben.

“Nobody answering?”

“Of fucking course not,” Eddie gestured towards the door. “Can’t you hear the music? The party doesn’t start for another hour! Richie’s going to go through his entire tape deck before this thing even fucking starts.”

“I’m sure he can just start them over later,” Ben suggested.

“Yeah, maybe, whatever,” Eddie grumbled, settling on kicking at the front door. Ben laughed again.

“Come on, I know the Denbrough’s garage code,” Ben started down the porch stairs.

“Oh fucking duh,” Eddie winced at his own stupidity. “I know it, too.”

Ben didn’t comment, just led the way. He punched the four-digit code—Georgie’s birthday—into the punch pad. They ducked awkwardly under the still rising garage door, too impatient to wait for it to fully rise.

Ben wore an oversized, plaid sweater vest that sat comfortably around his round hips. He looked nice, Eddie thought, admitting that Beverly had done it yet again. They closed the garage door behind them, walking into the house. The volume of the music was worse inside. It felt like it was thrumming inside Eddie’s skin.

They rounded the corner, finding their other five friends gathered in the kitchen. Eddie covered his ears with his hands because the music was excruciating, and he had a point to prove.

Beverly was pouring what appeared to be vodka into a bowl of punch, while Richie threw Cheeto’s at her from his spot on the counter. And although he wouldn’t admit it to Richie—maybe to Beverly, since it was her masterpiece—Richie looked _great_. The loud orange color of his v-neck t-shirt poked out underneath his open, loose fitted, neon, pinstriped button up shirt. Eddie had to look away from the expanse of thighs that were exposed through the many, many rips and tear-outs of his black jeans.

“Benjy!” Richie cheered, eyes smiling at him before his eyes slid over to Eddie. They met eyes and Richie licked his lips.

“Spaghetti!” Somehow, Richie’s screech was louder than the music.

“I can’t hear you!” Eddie yelled.

“Unplug your ears, dumbass,” Beverly joked, rolling her eyes at him.

“That wouldn’t help! This music is going to get the cops called before anyone even shows up!” Eddie challenged.

“N-nah,” Bill shook his head, he was currently shoving a large piece of pepperoni pizza in his mouth. He put up his pointer finger in the universal ‘ _one sec_ ’ motion. He chewed, swallowed, then, “Mrs. M-mathews, nuh-next d-door,” Bill pointed towards the North side of his house, “is duh-deaf.”

“That’s one neighbor, Bill,” Eddie gave him a look.

“He has a point,” Stan gestured towards Eddie, while also eating a piece of pizza.

“See!” Eddie exclaimed.

“We’re fine,” Mike said, grabbing the last slice of pizza and causing a chorus of ‘ _not fair’_ and ‘ _you’ve already had like four_ ’. “It’s not even sunset yet.”

“Yeah,” Ben nodded his head. “Neighborhoods have quiet hours and we haven’t infringed on those yet.”

“Ooh,” Richie teased. “What a scholarly word, Mr. Hanscom.”

“Shut up,” Ben said without any heat.

When Richie turned, Eddie could see _their_ symbol painted across Richie’s back—LOSER in all black capital letters, the S partially covered by a red V. It melted Eddie’s heart; he had still had the sweatshirt Richie had made him way back in eighth grade with that symbol on it. He hoped it was something they always shared.

“You like?” Richie waggled his eyebrows, noticing Eddie’s focus.

“Your shirts clash,” Eddie said instead, finding it easier to say. Richie cackled; face taken over with his amusement.

“You look fuckable, too, Eds,” Richie yelled, as they were still trying to talk over the dreadful music, winking at Eddie, because somehow Richie always knew what Eddie wasn’t saying.

“Guh-get a room!” Bill hollered at the pair, his voice full of teasing.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Mike chuckled. “The nights too young!”

“Touché,” Richie agreed. “Give it a couple of hours.”

Eddie felt a bright red blush creep up his cheeks. He shook his head profusely. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah, sure,” Beverly teased, too. She had a cheerful smile on, her blue eyes twinkling even deeper due to the bright blue tube top she wore underneath her triple-size-too-big denim jacket. It was covered in patches—many of which Eddie had helped her put on.

“It’s not,” Eddie tried again, but this time even Stan laughed. Eddie hated his friends.

(Except that he didn’t. Especially not when Mike offered him a slice of pizza he’d set aside for him. Claiming that he knew the others would try to finish the two boxes off before everyone was even present.)

Eddie leaned against the counter, still choosing to ignore most of his friends in favor of savoring the last slice of pizza, kicking his foot against the splintered front of Mrs. Denbrough’s lower cabinets.

“Eds!” Richie’s voice broke Eddie’s reverie, and he popped his head up to meet Richie’s stare.

Eddie shot him a look of inquiry.

“Come here!” Richie called over to Eddie, opening his legs into a _V_ shape, gesturing for Eddie to stand between them. Eddie pulled his body away from the counter, hip sore from where the edge had jutted into his skin. He felt suddenly like there was too much room between him and his boyfriend. Soon, people would arrive, and they’d have to pretend to be just friends. Eddie’s heart sunk, causing him to push down all his agitation over the music, and focus on being grateful for the time he did have with Richie.

Eddie crossed the room, ignoring the voices of his friends, finally settling into Richie’s space.

“You look so hot, babe,” Richie whispered so only Eddie could hear, although Eddie did still have to strain to hear him. Eddie leaned farther into his boyfriends’ space, enjoying the feeling of being pressed up to him. “Tell me I look good too, baby.”

Eddie giggled. It was hard not to around Richie.

“How can I?” Eddie teased, poking at Richie’s stomach. “Your shirts clash.”

Richie whined. “You already said that,”

“I like your jeans,” Eddie breathed, reaching in through the holes of Richie’s jeans to press his fingertips against the exposed skin. Richie shuttered slightly as Eddie slid his finger up the inside of his thigh.

“I knew you would, baby,” Richie murmured back, eyes closed, and head tilted.

“It’s time, Losers!” Eddie heard Beverly cheer from the other side of the kitchen. Eddie savored the warmth of Richie’s arms around his neck, playing with the strands at the base of his neck. He didn’t want to move until he had to.

X

Eddie bites his bottom lip, standing between Richie and Beverly as they shared a cigarette. They’d said they wanted to start the party out right, claiming they needed to loosen up with a cigarette or two. Now, the three friends stood on the Denbrough’s back porch, listening to the noises of the party inside.

Eddie kicked at a stone, shoulder brushing against Beverly’s. She was telling Richie about somebody she saw in the Denbrough’s living room, but Eddie really didn’t care to listen. Instead, his focus was up on the sky, as it painted itself in hues of deep red and vibrant orange. The sun had almost disappeared past the horizon line, leaving behind the lingering colors that hadn’t settled into the darkness yet. It only took several minutes until there was just the light and radiance remaining in the sky after the sun had set.

It was kind of beautiful, Eddie thought, breathing in the leftover smoke from Richie’s exhaled cigarette smoke. It circled above their heads, disappearing into the endless evening sky.

X

As the night waned on, Eddie didn’t keep track of how many times someone refilled his cup with punch. Partially because he didn’t want to know, and partially because he had already somehow lost count. He had also lost track of everyone he knew. Mike disappeared with his empty cup, promising him a refill. But Eddie was sure that was at least twenty minutes ago.

The music was still blaring. Bodies slotted together, voices singing along, drinks sloshing around. Eddie dodged between sweaty people, bumping into faces he couldn’t remember or place. Bill’s house was full to the brim, no doubt breaking many safety and fire codes. Eddie was sure the house itself was vibrating and shaking to the music.

Finally, he spotted Richie’s wild hair and _LOVER_ stained back. Clear across the Denbrough’s living room, he stood leaning against the wall, seemingly in a deep conversation with a girl on Eddie’s track team. As he advanced towards Richie, he couldn’t help but think how stupid it was to call anyone who ran track a team, as if someone else’s performance had any weight on his own success.

His teammate had her long blonde hair pulled up into two crimped ponytails. Her lip gloss stained lips were set in what was obviously an exaggerated pout. It wasn’t cute, Eddie thought, wondering if she had meant for it to be. Really, it grated on Eddie’s nerves. And what even was her name? He had been sure her name was Rachel, but it somehow didn’t sound right in his mind now. Either way, Eddie wasn’t fond of the way she kept looking at Richie. From his spot, he couldn’t see Richie’s face and he wasn’t sure what to imagine Richie’s face may look like. Was he interested in what maybe-Rachel was saying? Or was he bothered by her falsetto laugh and doe eyed smiles?

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie spoke up as soon as he was within earshot. His greeting effectively cut off maybe-probably-Rachel’s ramble about some new song on the radio.

Richie spun around, meeting Eddie with a bright and genuine smile. “Eds!”

“Hey, I gotta show you something,” Eddie yelled to be heard over the music, grabbing at Richie and pulling him away.

He failed to give could-be-Rachel any recognition, listening as Richie called goodbye to her over his shoulder. Eddie dragged Richie back down the hallway and towards the kitchen, before Richie dug in his heels. He was too strong, too long and lanky for Eddie to even stand a chance against.

“What the hell?” Eddie asked, spinning around to meet Richie’s gaze.

“Where we going, Eds?” Richie asked, a goofy smile taking over his face.

“Over there,” Eddie pointed behind his shoulder. “Away from,” he batted his hand towards the living room they’d just escaped.

“Were you jealous?!” Richie’s eyebrows furrowed. Eddie’s look of false nonchalance must have given him away, though, because Richie broke into laughter. “You so were!”

“Just because I don’t like Rachel and would rather you talk to me doesn’t mean anything,” Eddie slurred, not sure if the words even made sense as they tumbled out of his mouth.

“Her names Raquel,” Richie said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Whatever,” Eddie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“She runs track with you!”

“So?”

Richie just laughed again, throwing his head back. His curls bounced around as he did so, making Eddie’s stomach swoop.

“Stop laughing!” Eddie insisted, crossing his arms against his chest. His words had the opposite effect though, causing Richie to double over in laughter harder. Eddie rolled his eyes, a little flush rising against his cheeks.

It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, but that he really didn’t want to be the jealous type. He especially didn’t want Richie to _think_ he was the jealous type. He didn’t care if Richie had other friends, except some small part of him really did. What if his new friends were funnier? Or made Richie smile bigger and laugh harder? And what if they were better kissers than Eddie? Because even though Eddie was passionate, he had no practice.

Richie stood up again, pushing his glasses up onto his face, fixing Eddie with a gentle look. Eddie squirmed under his gaze, kind of wanting to melt away from the attention. Richie had a way of softening Eddie’s insides until he felt like a melted ice cream cone, sprinkles and sugar coating his insides. But it was an enchanting feeling, luring him closer to Richie’s orbit. Somehow it was also kind of overwhelming, leaving Eddie staggering and out of breath. Being loved by Richie Tozier was like that.

“There you two are,” Eddie and Richie twisted around, watching Ben run up to them. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah?” Richie asked.

“Yeah, Bev says it’s time.”

“Hell yeah!” A wicked smile graced Richie’s face, as he grabbed at Eddie’s arm to pull him in the direction Ben was disappearing.

X

At the top of the Denbrough staircase, the Losers—minus Bill—formed a small circle at the base of the landing. Knees brushing, breath mingling, voices levelling a shout to be heard over the party still raging below them.

“What’s Bill’s problem?” Beverly asked, lighting a cigarette. Eddie sort of wanted to ask her to stop—the Denbrough’s house was going to wreak of nicotine stained smoke, as it clung to their walls and furniture—but remembered that Bill was a floor below them dancing on the coffee table with his baseball bro Mark.

“He’s acting out to get attention,” Ben said, managing to sound both sympathetic and systematic. “Y’know? Like if there’s something broken, his parents will have to talk to him.”

“That’s so fucked up,” Mike sighed.

“It’s horrible,” Stan nodded. “But it’s Bill. And knowing his parents, they’ll just replace it and forget to say anything to him about it.”

“I thought this was a party,” Richie cleared his throat, raising the blunt in his grasp. “If Bill wants to pole dance on the stair banister with some slutty whore from chemistry, that’s on him.”

“Ugh, Richie, don’t call women that,” Beverly groaned with a glare.

“Sorry, madam. Dear, sweet Billiam is making acquaintances with a fair lady from chemistry.”

Eddie barely stifled a giggle, while Stan and Ben snorted. Mike shook his head fondly.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Beverly warned, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Put that out,” Mike nudged her. “We’ve got something better.”

She didn’t, instead she heaved in several long puffs, the cigarette dwindling in her fingertips. As she finished, she put the end of it out on the sole of Richie’s shoe, as he sat beside her. Richie didn’t even flinch, just pulled his tacky, neon lighter out and lit the edge of his blunt. Mike somehow had one, too, and he stole Beverly’s lighter to light up.

Eddie didn’t smoke weed. Although he knew he didn’t have asthma, just the thought of smoking made his throat close. The fear clung to his lungs; a voice in his head that sounded a lot like his mother warned him about the dangers of getting high.

Except that toxic, inner voice trembled in uncertainty when the blunt was passed over him. Richie, seated on Eddie’s left, reached across Eddie’s lap, handing the blunt to Stan. Stan accepted it, and Eddie watched as he pulled, inhaled and passed it on to Mike. And it was all rather fascinating to Eddie. How the party was raging downstairs, music pounding, voices screeching, rooms illuminated by old, strung up Christmas lights. It was tasteless in a way that only Bill could make feel cool.

Eddie watched in enthrallment as Mike, who’d started the other blunt, savored this new blunt. His eyes were half-lidded, and he had a small smile against his face.

The alcohol made Eddie transfixed, he remembered belatedly when Richie reached over him again. Stan smoked as if he were on a timer, and if he didn’t draw and pass to Mike in an imaginary fifteen seconds he’d be banished from the circle. It was comical to watch, Eddie thought suddenly, grinning behind a hand he raised to his mouth. No one paid him any mind, not even Richie, as he was too busy bothering Bev.

Eddie turned his attention again, this time focusing on Ben, who was giggling from his place across the circle, having accepted the blunt from Mike.

It went on like that. Eddie’s resolve slipping every single time the blunt skipped over him. It happened between the light pressure of Richie’s arm against Eddie’s chest, and the brush between Richie and Stan’s fingers, and the overall feeling of ease that enveloped his friends. It was between the uncomfortableness of sitting legs crossed on the hardwood floor, boredom and irritation rising as he sat still watching his friends enjoying themselves.

As Richie accepted the blunt from Beverly again, Eddie turned and tugged at Richie’s sleeve.

“Don’t skip me,” he said frantically, his nerves taking over.

“Huh?” Richie asked loudly, drawing attention from their friends. Eddie cursed Richie quietly, feeling suddenly nervous. He didn’t want to cause a scene; didn’t want to cough up a lung while everyone watched.

“I said,” Eddie murmured, watching the others lose interest when there wasn’t a show to observe. “Don’t skip me this time,”

Richie’s eyebrows shot up. His eyes were already red-rimmed, and his hair fell against his forehead in sweaty tufts of curls. Eddie wanted to kiss him and maybe yank his shirt up over his head, but those were less important than the conversation he was currently having. He wanted to prove to himself and Richie that it was something he could do.

“I don’t know, Eds,” Richie murmured back, following Eddie’s lead this time. “You’ve had a lot to drink, and like-”

“I don’t have asthma, my lungs are fine. You’ve all had a lot to drink, too.” Eddie levelled his voice.

There was a seriousness surrounding Richie that Eddie wanted to shatter. Richie was rarely serious, and Eddie didn’t want the feeling to transfer to himself. He was positive about this. Eddie’s gaze didn’t falter, instead holding Richie’s gaze. The blunt was still lit in Richie’s grasp, smoke billowing out the end of it. Eddie could see Beverly waiting not-so-patiently to pass the other blunt to Richie. The conversation had been going on too long and now the attention of the other Losers was back on the couple.

“Rich-” Beverly began, but Eddie cut her off,

“Pass it the other way, Jesus Christ, Beverly,”

“Goddamn,” Beverly swore in annoyance. “Chill out, Eds.”

Eddie ignored her. He met Richie’s gaze once more, trying to hold it with some semblance of dominance. Richie seemed to notice the blunt still in his grasp, as he suddenly took another hit from it, blowing smoke right into Eddie’s face.

Which Eddie realized too late was a test.

He spluttered, batting at the smoke, coughing several times.

“That’s what I thought, baby,” Richie said, although it wasn’t unkind or condescending. Instead, it was soft and kindhearted, very affectionate, as he passed the blunt on to Beverly, effectively changing the flow, bringing it back to normal, and shutting down Eddie’s positively brilliant idea.

He turned his body away from Richie, earning him a scoff of indignation from his boyfriend, choosing to face Stan. He tried to catch Stan’s eye and communicate to him through long and purposeful eye contact only—like widening them, glancing at Richie with an eyeroll, lingering stare at the blunt—but Stan was in his own world.

Eddie tried to be patient, but as Stan’s turn ended his skin was vibrating. He squared his shoulders, trying to create a block between Richie and Stan.

“Fuck off, Eddie,” Stan grumbled. “Move your dumb head.”

Eddie ignored him in favor of trying to grab the blunt from Stan, but in his drunken state he was too slow. It seemed to happen in slow motion—Richie reaching around him, the blunt disappearing out of his line of sight.

Eddie spun around, but it was too late.

“Stop!” Eddie grabbed for the blunt, but Richie was taller. He lifted it above his head, and from his seated position Eddie couldn’t reach it.

“Oh, just cut it out, Richie,” Beverly spoke up, blowing lopsided smoke rings in Richie’s direction. “He’s not a baby, Richie.”

“He’s _my_ baby,” Richie cooed, continuing to hold the blunt out of Eddie’s reach. Vaguely, Eddie knew he could stand up, but he also knew Richie would react faster. He could even lunge across the circle to grab the blunt that Bev was savoring, but where was the fun in that?

“I’m serious, Richie,” Eddie whined, unsure if he was making any sense. Probably not.

“What’s the magic word?” Richie teased, a captivating, playful glint in his eye. Eddie was hooked. Suddenly, the rest of the circle didn’t exist. Richie was there, iris’ gleaming, mouth twisted up in a wicked, teasing beam. And Eddie sat right in his space, knees knocking. Eddie felt hot where they touched.

“Fuck off,” Eddie chose to say, biting at his bottom lip. Which made Richie pause, eyes alight as he leaned farther into Eddie’s space.

“Here,” Richie pushed gently at Eddie’s shoulder until he was sitting back down. “I have an idea,”

Richie leveled the blunt back to his mouth, taking a long drag. Eddie watched on in fascination, eyes trailing from Richie’s fluttering eyelashes to his closed, chapped lips. Richie held the smoke in his lungs for a beat, before grabbing Eddie and pulling him clumsily forward. Richie’s hands found purchase in Eddie’s hair, guiding his face closer to Richie’s own. His fingers trailed around to Eddie’s mouth, pressing firmly at his lips until Eddie’s mouth slipped open. Every part of Eddie’s body lit up when Richie finally closed the remaining distance between them and pressed their open mouths together, blowing the secondhand smoke straight into Eddie’s open mouth.

_Fuck_ , Eddie thought.

_Richie’s so hot,_ Eddie’s mind chanted over and over again, between thoughts of _please let that happen again_.

Richie’s face was bright. His smile grew as they pulled apart, tongue sticking out to lick against his bottom lip. His eyes were heavy, red-rimmed and passion-filled. His gaze didn’t falter from Eddie as he passed the blunt to Beverly.

Eddie scrambled into Richie’s lap, _needing_ to get closer to the other. Richie laughed, a gentle little jingle that made the ever-present butterflies in Eddie’s stomach flutter. It was ridiculous, Eddie wanted to think, how easy he was for Richie.

But there wasn’t time to think things like that. His mind was a muddled stream of _touch Richie, kiss Richie, be held by Richie, smoke with Richie,_ and then the innocence slipped away into _grind down on Richie_. And he did, earning him a groan and a pinch at the side.

“No way,” Richie groaned into Eddie’s ear. “Nope. Not here. Not right now.”

“Why?” Eddie whined, pressing down against Richie again.

“It’s our turn,” Richie said as way of answer, grabbing the blunt from somewhere behind Eddie’s shoulder where Stan offered it. “Ready?” Richie prompted. Eddie nodded quickly, earning him an affectionate little laugh from Richie.

Richie didn’t hesitate, inhaling the smoke and crowding into Eddie’s space. There was no space between them. Eddie felt as if he were soaring, as he watched the deliciously calculated movements of Richie’s body, eagerness settled in the pit of his stomach, rushing forward to meet Richie halfway. The firm press of Richie’s lips on his own paired with the heat of the smoke forced Eddie’s eyelids shut, made his hips crash down against Richie’s in a desperate move to find some sort of pressure.

“Again?” Richie asked, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke. Eddie could only nod.

Richie took another hit, lips just barely parted before crashing against Eddie’s once more. It was electric, Richie blowing the smoke straight into Eddie’s mouth. It was magnetic, Eddie’s lips craving more of Richie’s. A rush of affection and desire cursed through his veins, until it felt like the only thing about him. All his nerve endings reached out for Richie; his skin begging to be touched. Right there in the Denbrough’s hallway.

X

An hour passed.

Maybe another hour passed, and Eddie’s mind felt _crystal_ clear. Where his thoughts had been jumbled, now they were a constant stream, leaving him able to pick and choose at his thoughts.

The initial, peak experience of the weed had settled, leaving Eddie’s stomach swoopy and light. His shoulders felt light, so did his tongue, as if he could speak whatever was on his mind. Luckily, before he could share aloud his favorite place to kiss on Richie’s neck or how badly he had to pee after his last track meet, he was given another drink.

Everything sort of lingered beneath his skin, the lightness in his chest and the high in both his mind and heart.

While the music continued to play, and his classmates continued to dance, and the smoke machine someone set up continued to blast the Denbrough’s living room and kitchen with gritty smoke, Eddie felt far removed, nearly detached from it all.

Time had passed, and Eddie wasn’t sure what song was playing, where his friends were, or if Mrs. Denbrough’s cracked vase was salvageable.

Eddie wanted Richie, and that was all he was sure of.

He had to find Richie.

X

Eddie found Richie talking utter bullshit to someone Eddie didn’t recognize. Richie’s body language was open and loose, arms dangling at his sides. Eddie was hopeless, unable to glance away from the way Richie’s curls laid against his forehead, brushing the frames of glasses.

Eddie couldn’t wait anymore. He’d given Richie time to socialize, but now Richie was _his_. He tried to approach nonchalantly, but he was struggling. His limbs were both too light and too heavy.

Eddie caught Richie’s eye and jerked his head towards the staircase. Eddie wanted to memorize the look that captured Richie’s features as he excused himself and traipsed across the living room. Richie was a klutz; his long, lanky legs tripping him slightly until he crashed into Eddie, sending them both hurtling at the wall.

“Fancy seein’ you here,” Richie drawled in what was meant to be a cowboy Voice. Eddie was charmed, though he chose to give a little whine and a grumbled,

“You talk too much,”

“Put your lips on mine and shut me up,” Richie murmured lowly, wrist flicking and fingers twisting until they were slotting between Eddie’s own.

“Fine,” Eddie agreed, nodding his head and licking his lips. There was still the alcohol in his blood, leaving him warm and dazed. There was also the weed, halting his inhibition. Eddie leaned forward, catching himself when Richie just smiled and leaned back.

“Not here, silly goosey,” Richie murmured.

Eddie nodded. “Bill’s room?”

Richie’s eyes lit up, golden specks bright against the caramel brown. “Lead the way, Eddie Confetti,”

“Confetti?” Eddie questioned, as if Richie hadn’t called him the name a million times.

“It’s always a party with you, Eds, baby,” the pet name lit Eddie’s skin on fire.

Everything that followed was a blur. As the couple stumbled into Bill’s bedroom, door flinging shut behind them, Eddie had the wherewith to at least secure their privacy.

“Lock the door,” Eddie said, though he made no move to do it himself.

“Hm?”

“The door, Rich,” Eddie said again, trying to search his mind for the words he wanted to use. “We need to lock it,”

And after that, it was another five minutes of making out before Eddie was aware of the situation again. His entire body was responding in relation to Richie’s. Where Richie’s arm cradled Eddie’s hip, Eddie felt heat and happiness. Where Richie’s thigh pressed at his crotch, Eddie felt on fire. Where Richie’s tongue licked at Eddie’s jawline, he felt fireworks. It was overwhelming in the way that loving Richie Tozier always was.

Eddie was pliant and soft as Richie undressed him; overall straps pushed down his shoulders, t-shirt yanked over his head. His eyes roamed Richie’s body as he undressed himself before Eddie; all clumsy movements and nearly tripping over his own limbs.

Somehow, they made it to the bed together, wrapped up into one another’s orbit.

Richie was mouthy—both figuratively and literally. Several hickey’s later, Eddie came to realize that Richie hadn’t moved from his hip and upper thigh. He wiggled slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of Richie’s work, though Richie only put pressure against Eddie’s stomach so he couldn’t fully get away. Eddie didn’t want to, though, as Richie bit at his skin again, licking at it once he pulled away.

“So fucking hot, Eds,” Richie mumbled. “ _Fuck_ , you’re just so hot. You’re like the sunshine or something,”

Eddie didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say a word, just bucked his hips up towards Richie again, which earned him a breathy laugh and another nip of Richie’s teeth against his skin.

“You don’t want me to ever stop, huh, Eds?”

Eddie gave a low groan, forgetting to be quiet. His mind was still a fog machine, making the world feel limited to him and Richie and their love. As if their love was palpable, as if it were in the room with them. As if maybe Eddie wasn’t just drunk on the punch and high from the weed, but somehow his mind and body were escalated by the boundless joy that he shared with Richie.

“God, you,” Riche trailed off, attaching his lips back to Eddie’s hip. “My sweet and soft spaghetti,”

Eddie huffed, “Richie, no,”

“But you’re so smooth,” Richie cooed, hand brushing Eddie’s thigh. “And yummy,” Richie bit and sucked at Eddie’s hip once again, momentarily distracting Eddie.

“I’m not spaghetti, Richie, that’s such a dumb fucking name anyway,”

Richie ignored him. And Eddie’s breath hitched as Richie finally— _finally_ —drew his attention to Eddie’s leaking cock.

As was typical for a Richie blowjob, there was saliva everywhere. Eddie clamped a hand over his mouth to try and compress the moans that left his mouth against his will. Richie was fast and finesse, sloppy and sucking. Bringing Eddie just to the edge, before pulling back.

Richie shifted upwards, until they were laying facing one another, spitting into his hands before wrapping them around both of their cocks. The pressure of Richie’s hard dick against his own was a delicious slide that left Eddie gasping.

And then they came together, collapsing into one another. The music still pounded below them, their friends and classmates drinking and smoking and partying into the night. Here, cradled against Richie’s body, Eddie lay in his post-coital bliss. Richie’s lips were warm and constant, pressing gentle kisses against his shoulder, and up to his ear.

Eddie was more than content. Bliss leaked into his core, his adoration for Richie insurmountable.

Richie sang quietly, and Eddie fell asleep to the tune of being loved.

X

Slowly, Eddie felt himself ease back into consciousness. Awareness settled slowly, piece by piece. Eddie’s skin felt warm, the sun was shining against it. There was also the dull headache throbbing in his skull. He kept his eyelids clamped shut and attempted to sort through his memories. He knew he wasn’t in his bed, nor Richie’s—the light was coming in the wrong way. Had they been in his bed, the sunshine would be much loser, beaming strongly against the side of his face. And Richie’s headboard sat just underneath his largest bedroom window, scattering rays around them, only dropping against their duvet covered bodies. His other bedroom windows were too far to do anything more than light the room, sparkling dust particles that hunt in the air. _Pixie dust_ , Richie called it when Eddie whined. This light, however, was strong. It illuminated his skin, leaving it prickly and warm.

“Richie?” Eddie tried his voice, though it came out croaky. He winced, throwing out an arm to try and locate Richie. It only took a moment for his fingertips to come into contact with the matted curls at the base of Richie’s neck.

“Hngh?” Richie gave an unintelligible noise of discomfort, sounding just as wrecked as Eddie felt.

“Where are we?” Eddie asked, the words scratchy as they left his throat.

Richie made another noise that meant nothing to Eddie, forcing him to tug at Richie’s hair. It only earned him an indignant whine.

“Rich,” Eddie tried again, running his fingers through Richie’s hair. His fingers mostly met knots, forcing him to try and separate them without hurting Richie. There was no further whining from his boyfriend, so he must’ve been doing an okay job.

“Come on, Richie,” Eddie spoke up again after a bit of time had passed. “We gotta get up. Go find the others.”

Richie whined again.

Ignoring the cute protests of his boyfriend, Eddie stood up and rummaged around until he found his t-shirt from the night before, and a pair of Bill’s pajama bottoms. He had no desire to put his overalls back on. He could see Richie pulling on a pair of Bill’s pajama pants, too, forgoing a shirt. Eddie sort of wanted to tell him to please put something on, mostly to hide the many, _many_ hickeys Eddie had given him. Another part of him was enjoying the view. Richie was a sight, one that Eddie would never tire of.

Eddie chose to ignore the situation in favor of getting to the bathroom and hopefully finding a spare, still packaged toothbrush. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls; dry and parched. He could also smell his own morning breath, felt near vomiting because of how truly awful it smelt.

Eddie tugged at Bill’s bedroom door, though it didn’t budge. He tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn’t go.

“Uh?” Eddie heard Richie’s unasked question, feeling just as confused himself.

“We locked it,” Eddie remembered suddenly, feeling grateful for his drunken foresight. “We locked the others out all night,”

Richie had an amused smile on his face, his eyes sparkling with the mirth of it, though he didn’t make a sound. Hungover Richie was a bit of a baby.

Eddie slipped the lock opposite, leading Richie out of the bedroom and down the hallway. They stumbled upon Bill first, whose head was nestled in the crook of his elbow, body sprawled across the staircase. Somehow, he’d managed to fall asleep, face first down the stairs without sliding down all night.

“Bill?” Eddie asked, poking his friend with his socked toes.

“St-st- _stop_ ,” Bill moaned.

“God, this place is a disaster,” Richie said, looking down into the living room. “It’s going to be a long ass day, huh?”

“I duh-don’t fuh-feel good,” Bill harrumphed, looking soft in the mid-morning glow. Eddie felt bad for his friend, glancing around at the mess he’d slept in. The plastic-cup filled staircase couldn’t have been the best place to sleep.

“You drank a fuck ton,” Eddie spun around much too quickly, trying to locate the new voice. He stumbled slightly, flinging his arms out to keep his balance. Richie grabbed at his biceps, steading him.

Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough’s bedroom door was thrown wide open, exposing their large bed sat in the middle of the room. Sitting up, curls wild, was Stan. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Eddie could just barely remember Stan keeping up with everyone the night before.

“Hey, Stan,” Richie spoke up.

“You were quite loud last night,” Stan deadpanned, looking between Richie and Eddie. Eddie felt his face flush, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“What can I say-” Richie started, though Eddie cut him off to say,

“You better be fucking around with me.”

Stan gave a little laugh, covering his mouth behind his hand. “Maybe a little. But everyone else was too drunk to realize what was going on.”

Eddie feels his heart settle down. He was proud to love Richie. But he was also in the closet for his own safety. Those things went together like two mismatched puzzle pieces: meaning, hardly at all. While he didn’t mind if the Losers knew—was actually relieved that they shared their enthusiasm and support—no one else could know. Stan’s calmness was contagious. Eddie took a deep breath.

“Your hairs a fucking mess,” Eddie said to Stan, earning him a glare.

“Where’s everyone else?”

Eddie looked around the small landing. Bill had laid his head back down, groaning every thirty or so seconds about his headache. Stan was still perched in the bedroom, though nobody else was visible.

“It’s like a game,” Richie murmured behind his gritted teeth, as if even his hangover couldn’t spoil a good morning. “Like hide-and-seek or Marco Polo.”

“Do not scream,” Stan ordered, just as Eddie covered his ears when Richie cleared his throat.

“Marco!” Richie shouted into the house. Silence followed. Nobody moved. Stan had a murderous glare, Bill’s whining grew in volume, and Eddie hip-checked Richie. None of these things deterred him, though, as he yelled again, “Marco!”

This time, a very faint, “Polo!” came from the lower level of the house.

“Benny!” Richie slipped away, sliding past Bill and down the staircase.

Eddie didn’t move; wasn’t sure he really wanted to. From his periphery, Eddie watched Stan fall back onto the mattress. Bill didn’t move, just grumbled, “I d-d-d _fucking hell_ , can’t fu-fucking sp-p-peak.”

Eddie didn’t press. Instead, he remembered his mission from earlier. Sure, he’d wanted to know what happened to the other Losers, but a toothbrush had been essential. He fumbled into the bathroom, pulling open drawers and cupboards until he found a small stash of packaged toothbrushes. He nearly cheered but settled for a pleased smile as he ripped into the packaging.

Richie would find the others. Somebody would make breakfast. They’d pass around a bottle of Tylenol and then they’d clean the house. All the previous night’s afterglow had faded, leaving the house feeling grimy and cluttered. Many memories were cloudy, but as Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt, he caught a glimpse of something he remembered clearly. The vibrant reddish violet bruises stood out in bright contrast to his lightly tanned skin. Butterflies fluttered their wings in his stomach, reminding him how he’d felt the night before. The hickeys were his souvenir, and he was more than happy to twist his hips to examine the dip of the heart Richie had tried to make.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought of this story! Reviews water my garden and light up my life. They kind of mean the entire world to me.
> 
> Also, I would love to chat with you on tumblr @eddiekaspbrak-lesbian.


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